


Inhabitants of the Black Forest

by WolfRuhl



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Blood, Bounty Hunters, Death, Dragon Hanzo, Faerie Reaper, Faerie Soldier76, Hedgewitch Ana, M/M, Nymph Genji, Swearing, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2019-02-07 02:04:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12831003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolfRuhl/pseuds/WolfRuhl
Summary: It’s just another job, he’s just another fool in a game far worse than he realized.Jesse McCree was not the kind of man to let superstitions get the better of him, so when he was offered a place on the team heading to the Black Forest he took it.  The Deadlock gang was a den of thieves and assassins, but to Mcree it was the only place he had left.  Once, he would have believed they still had some sort of morals, but no longer.  As the truth of their mission in the Forest reveals itself McCree begins to doubt the people he might have called family, and learns the true nature of the place he had once called home. With nowhere left to go he wanders aimlessly, and soon finds himself wanting to trust in something once more, but can he overcome the past that still haunts him?McHanzo. Reaper76. I will ship it til death, don’t like that sort of thing please don’t read.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve finally fallen to the bottom of the rabbit hole, and started writing my first fanfiction. A fantasy Overwatch AU taking place in and around the Black Forest. Please let me know what you think.
> 
> It’s rated M right now because I’m not sure how far this will go, and I don’t feel like changing it/won’t remember later.

### PROLOGUE

The Black Forest was steeped in superstition and legends, the most unnerving of these spoke of the Fae: they talked of tricksters who would snatch a child from their home only to replace them with one of their own, of the nymphs; spirits of nature that lived within the trees and rivers of the forest, helping them to grow and thrive. While many bards have spun a tale of the enchanting beauty of Elves, or the pranks of pixies, few have ever seen them. The same cannot be said of the dragons. 

The nearby villages have peaceful, if wary, relations with the Fae dwelling within the woods, and caution outsiders not to venture into the forest, lest they befall a gruesome end. These warnings often fall on deaf ears blinded by greed…. Although the Fae have been reduced to naught but myth, there was once a time when they were hunted relentlessly for their magic or their parts; second only to the creatures themselves on the black market, nothing was more coveted by the rich and foolish.


	2. Reunited

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The time McCree has spent digging up information on the Black Forest is coming to its end, and he now looks forward to meeting with his Deadlock mentor and the others. His year of lone reconnaissance will finally be of use and the journey into the Black Forest can begin soon.

CHAPTER 1 - Reunited

The soft creak of floorboards startled the young man from his sleep, hand automatically reaching for the pistol always kept with reach. When a rat scurried out from under the door he set the pistol back on the nightstand. May as well pack up and head out, places got me jumpier n’ a hare in a hornets nest. _‘Sides, there’s only one stop left, and after all this time I just want to get there already._ He was meeting back up with the others in two days, the past few months were a waste of time he had spent trying in vain to learn of the Black Forest. The Deadlocks’ newest job was within the Forest, although he didn't know the details yet. The Deadlock gang was a band of thieves and cutthroats, many with significant bounties, most of their work dealt with supplying the black market with new artifacts and trinkets. The boy known as Jesse McCree was offered to join up with them at age 10, and he was prepared to do what it takes to survive. He killed a man for the first time when he was 13, and by 15 had a sizable bounty of his own. It’s been nearly ten years since then, and his skills have only sharpened, the sharpshooter “Deadeye” known as the man who never misses a shot.

A few hours later, he arrived at the Errant Knight, a small but well kept tavern nestled on the outskirts . The well oiled doors gave way under McCree’s calloused hands revealing the sturdy oak bar that looked to have gone through many a brawl. He dodged several barmaids laden with sloshing mugs of dark ale as he made his way towards a hulking bear of a man just making his way out from the kitchen. The man’s once blond hair, now almost completely white, framed a battle hardened face riddled with scars. They couldn’t hide the crinkle of laughter around his eyes, and his warm smile.

Turning his attention back to the man’s query, needing to shout to be heard over the roar of the tavern, he answered, “I’ll take a whiskey”. Downing it in a quick gulp, he gestured for another, and said “Names McCree, you got a room open?”

“Call me Reinhardt! And it looks like we just got ourselves a vacancy,” glancing over at a particularly drunk man harassing one of his barmaids, the spitfire Bridgette. The big man laughed heartily, the woman cursing loudly as she turned and promptly chucked the offender out the door. McCree whistled in appreciation.

“I should tell you, though I’m sure Bridgette has demonstrated it quite well, don’t mess with the staff. It takes a special breed of people to live this far out, and everyone here can handle themselves.” McCree nodded, noting the hammer hanging on the wall behind the bar. _I pity the poor sod who manages to get on_ his _bad side,_ he thought. He quickly earned the respect of Reinhardt and his short friend Torbyorn, young Bridgette’s father, by drinking several regulars under the table. While the rest of the gang was finishing up a weapons deal, he had been sent to gather intel, and what better way than to ask the town drunks? Late into the night he left the rowdy crowds behind, making his way up to his room as he mulled over what he had learned. Town gossip was unimportant, if not interesting, he learned very little about the Black Forest; rumors of a changeling child, the usual ballads; what he didn’t expect, and what he heard most of, was the dragons.

____

____

Hushed whispers warned him of the two dragons who make their home at the heart of the forest, it’s fearsome guardians who swiftly deal with any who dare enter. Few make it out of the forest, and those that do are considered lucky to have escaped with their lives, if not their sanity. Survivors mutter with wide eyes of the glowing scales crackling with blue lightning and a roar that shook your very bones. McCree resolved to tell Butch of what he had learned in the morning when he met up with them at camp. Until then, he’d get some shut eye.

As dawn crept over the horizon, McCree pulled his shirt over his head, slipped into his boots and grabbed his pack, heading out to meet with the rest of the team. He waved to Reinhardt, setting up the bar for the day, and tipped his hat to Bridgette as he walked out the tavern door. When he approached the campsite, a few short hours later, one of the men standing watch called out to him. “McCree, looks like you made it after all, thought you’d chickened out on us!”

The cowboy grinned as he yelled back, “Told ya I’m not afraid of a few fairies”. _What man in their right mind wouldn’t be afraid of what’s probably in there,_ he muttered under his breath, thinking back to the dragons.

The camp was simple; a lone bonfire at the center, and five tents circling it, off to the left outside the ring of tents, was a quickly dug latrine. McCree headed toward the smaller of these tents, intending to pass along what he’d learned and get himself some grub. A man stepped out from the tent, and looped a muscled arm around McCree's shoulder.

“McCree. Good to finally have you back! Well, how’d it go, you get anything more than these damned rumors I’ve been hearing about?” Butch’s free arm twirled and juggled one of several long knives kept hidden under the blue-grey sash he wore at his waist, as they made their way into his tent. He was originally a mercenary, before he became the leader of the Deadlock gang, and scars riddled every inch of his weathered skin. Dressed in a plain storm blue shirt, and worn black cargo pants, his ashen hair was pulled back in a ponytail that just brushed his shoulder blades.

McCree slid from the man’s grasp and sat down, falling into the easy banter of long-time friends while he filled Butch in on the more useful of the stories he had collected on his travels. By the time he had told him of all but the dragons; even town gossip could prove important (it was at the least a good laugh), and the sun just touched the western horizon, the cowboy paused.

“You still any good with those pigstickers o’ yers?”

Butch guffawed as he opened the tent flap, catching the knife and embedding it to the hilt deadcenter in a target 40 yards away in one swift, fluid motion.

“I’d say the past year hasn’t affected **my** aim any, I’m more worried about you, I think a year of chasing myths and legends may have made you rusty,” he teased.

“Well how about a wager then, just so happens I could go for some food right about now. The usual game sound good?” McCree replied, checking his stock of bullets.

“Hope you’re ready to lose that wager McCree, don’t forget I taught you how to handle that gun of yours. But it’s been awhile, lets up the stakes,” Butch grinned mischievously before turning back towards the camp and hollering, “Hey boys, got a proposition for you! The cowboys finally back and we’re gonna do a bit of hunting, man with the best catch in two hours has to cook dinner, lets show him we haven’t been sitting on our asses! Who wants in?” McCree groaned, after a hard ride and retelling so many of the local legends, all he wanted was dinner and a bed. He was more than a match for most of the gang’s members, even when they teamed up on him, but he had yet to win against his mentor in a serious match, wager or otherwise.

A chorus of hoots gave the leader his answer, and McCree resigned himself to cooking for the 10 people that were a part of this mission, whatever the hell it was. A few of the men gave up after Butch brought in the first deer, McCree following closely with two beautiful elk. Instead, they bartered for some potatoes and other vegetables from a traveling merchant using the hide and antlers from the animals. One man managed to haul in a massive, battle scarred boar with the help of two other participants. McCree thought maybe they had won the wager, however, when Butch sauntered in with a 21 point buck minutes before time was up, he knew they hadn’t. Sighing softly he went to hunt down the elk and deer meat from their first catches to finally whip up some grub. _No surprise really, that man has the devil’s luck._ A hand on his shoulder dragged him out from the makeshift kitchen, and he turned, ready to congratulate Butch on his win. What awaited him was not the friendly jeers of the team, reminding him he lost, however. A feast was laid out on the tables before him, and nine voices spoke together as Butch handed him a bottle of whiskey.

“Welcome home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, the first few chapters will probably be pretty slow-paced, but it will pick up fairly fast around Chapter 3 or 4, when most of the other main characters will be introduced.
> 
> I thought it would be cool if McCree was a good cook thanks to losing bets of varying kinds, and the resulting years of practice.


End file.
